Mike,
Yesterday, Beth and I were out for a stroll around Coot Lake wetlands, and we were admiring the flocks of red-wing blackbirds, when we encountered this painting of herons with a poem by Wendell Berry.
When despair for the world grows in me,
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake rests
in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
Wendell Berry
–rakkity
michael
I look at the night sky for the same reason.
jennifer
That’s one terrific poem. (I might re-read it for the same reason.)
Hey, can you fix the little problem with this page not having a title (which I noticed because there’s no direct link to the comments)? Now, I’m really going to have a complex if that’s considered a lob.
michael
I’d do almost anything to further that complex thing but I can’t lie.
anon
Beautiful, beautiful poem.
What do you think, Rad?